


A Love Deferred

by nihilBliss



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Adult Content, Amputation, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cute, Cyborgs, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Injury Recovery, Kissing, Loose Canon, Love, Not Canon Compliant, POV Female Character, POV Ms. Paint, POV Second Person, Pegging, Post-Canon, Power Bottom, Power Bottom Spades Slick, Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Xeno, Xenophilia, carapacian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 04:31:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21207434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihilBliss/pseuds/nihilBliss
Summary: You never could keep your heart guarded from the wounded. Why would you? He was lonely in that bed, and so were you. So you talked, like grown carapacians do. He'd vent about his past, and you'd giggle as he got worked up, which brought him right back down. Sometimes, when the human and the unsettling centaur butler were away, you would crawl into his sickbed and lay on his chest, reading to him. Or, sometimes, you would both lay there together and do nothing at all. He was so different around you than he was around the others. But things happened — some sort of narrative climax you don't really know much about — and you thought you would never see him again.And then, you did.





	A Love Deferred

**Author's Note:**

  * For [auntie_reiji](https://archiveofourown.org/users/auntie_reiji/gifts).

> Commissioned by Auntie_Reiji, who wanted ten-ply-soft pegging between Ms. Paint and Spades Slick.
> 
> 🎶 But the biggest kick I ever got  
Was a thing called the Crocodile Cock  
While the other kids were Rocking Round the Clock  
We were pegging and begging for the Crocodile Cock 🎶

Your name is Ms. Paint, and today, as you have every day for the last few weeks, you're going through the process of tending to an amputation stump that's been through a lot. You wind the elastic bandage around the stump one way, then the other. It's healing up well enough for having been attached to an exploding cybernetic prosthetic. Unlike the first time Spades Slick lost this arm, you're not working in a medical facility of dubious origin with a vague, confusing relationship to reality. This time, you and he are at your home, and he's not getting a replacement. Still, the pain has gone way down, and that makes you feel good about your capabilities as a caregiver.

That's how you met him in the first place. He was broken, and the weird human dressed like a troll had you acting as his nursemaid. You helped attach his cyborg arm, and when he woke up, you dressed his wounds and cared for him. The rest happened slowly, but you suppose it was something of a foregone conclusion; you never could keep your heart guarded from the wounded.

And why would you? He was lonely in that bed, and so were you. So you talked, like grown carapacians do. He'd vent about his past, and you'd giggle as he got worked up, which brought him right back down. Sometimes, when the human and the unsettling centaur butler were away, you would crawl into his sickbed and lay on his chest, reading to him. Or, sometimes, you would both lay there together and do nothing at all. He was so different around you than he was around the others. You were only together for a little while before all of the shenanigans with the oven and the interplanetary showdown that sure looked like some sort of narrative climax.

It's only been a few weeks since you found him again, broken and bleeding and left for dead on an alien planet that, by all rights, should never have existed in the first place. And as you look into his eyes once more, you struggle to remember what life was like before him. You smile at him, and he smiles back. His face looks kind of scrunched and awkward when he smiles — by his own admission, he's spent most of his life scowling. But it's a smile from the heart, and that makes it beautiful. When you see it, you think that you might love him.

You plant a kiss on the soft, scaly tissue of his stump as you always do, a sort of charm on his bandages that makes your care a little more personal. When you look up at his face, something is missing, and you know just what it is. You press your lips against his cheek. A little chill shoots up your spine; every time you kiss him, it makes your carapace tingle with excitement, like you're in your adolescence and doing something forbidden. 

You lean back, but he leans into you. On the cheek isn't enough; he plants his lips against yours and wraps his arm around you. You return everything: the kiss, the hug, and the intimacy, pulling yourself into his lap. If you told someone that a man like Spades Slick felt warm, even through his hard exterior, they'd never believe you, but you've owned blankets less comfortable than his embrace. You sink into one another. With every passing day, the barrier between you grows thinner, and now, it's barely there at all.

So you make the call. It's something both of you wanted to do back then, but with the narrative arc being what it was, you never found the time. You pull away and gaze into his eyes for a moment, and then you stand up and take his hand. Giving it a gentle squeeze, you guide him through the house, a little delirious.

The pale green walls of your bedroom host bitmap artifact-riddled landscapes from your dabblings with plein air painting, surrounding the floral print everything of your bed. You sit on the edge and pat the comforter next to you, and Spades sits down. This time, you initiate the kiss, but he follows your lead, and you pick up where you left off. He wraps his arm around your abdomen and pulls you in tight. You caress the smoothness of his head as you slip your tongue past his lips. No luxurious dessert is as velvety and welcoming as his mouth. It's wonderful - he's wonderful, and he makes you feel wonderful. You trace the ridge at the center of his back with your fingertips, and when he shivers, you smile into the kiss. He smiles too, and he holds himself against you with all the gentle strength he can.

You break the kiss first. By way of asking permission, you cock an eyebrow as you bring a hand to the buttons of his shirt. He goes a little pink, but he nods. With a smile, you undo his shirt and slip it off, and let your fingers explore his strong, smooth chest. He cups your chin in the palm of his hand.

Between the green walls, the floral bed, and the golden afternoon sun on his face, it feels like spring.

You arch your face into his touch, and you wrap your hand around his. Turning, you kiss his palm before you guide it downwards, down your neck, down your shoulder. He raises an eyebrow; you nod, and he slides your dress over your shoulders, one side at a time. It slips down to your waist, and you stand and let it fall to the ground. There you stand, bare. His eyes caress you from bottom to top and to bottom again, pausing at the meeting of your thighs. You giggle; the hard plates that cover your soft breeding canal are already separating in anticipation.

He stands and drops his slacks to the ground. Already, you see his own plates unclenching. He reaches his fingers toward your crotch and slides them across your delicate outer scales, kissing you as he does. You coo and quiver at his touch, and you reciprocate it, teasing the outside of his sheath and dipping your finger between the outer scales. He gasps, and there's a frantic energy to his fingers and tongue. He's so needy, and it's making your canal drip. Already, you're fully dilated, and you guide his fingers into you proper, sliding your own fingers deeper into his sheathe. The bulbous, two-lobed head of his member pokes your fingertips as it grows erect, and he whines into the kiss.

You ease his stiff, blue-black cock out of its sheath, marveling at its weight. Kissing his ear, you whisper about how much you want it inside you. But then, he says something even more exciting: He'd rather you be inside of him. Though you had a suspicion, you hadn't dared to hope he'd be a bottom, but, well, you guess that vibe between you goes to the bedrock.

So you chew your lip with excitement as you open your under-bed drawer and reach for your favorite strap-on. It's the same shape as his cock, but pearlescent and sky blue. You pull it out, and his eyes gleam with excitement. He's so sexy like this, ready and eager to take your silicone carapacian dick. Maybe one day you'll go through your collection of assorted dildos with him... but that's for another time. For now, you slide the harness up your legs and around your hips, letting the stimulating nub rest against your soft vulval opening.

He lays on his back and sucks his index finger, then eases it into his asshole, knuckle by knuckle, his gaze going distant and his dick jumping. You want to watch him continue fingering himself, but waiting is an impossible task right now. So you snatch your lube from the drawer, and you pour a little in your hand. Making a show of biting your lip and groaning, you stroke your silicone cock for him.

His smile is so sexy when he blushes.

He grabs a pillow and shoves it under his hips, aiming himself toward you, and he hooks his elbow under his leg. You're tempted to squeal, but you control yourself and crawl onto the bed and atop him. With the tip of your dildo positioned against his hole, you lean in for a passionate kiss. And with his legs over your shoulders, you slide it into him. He gasps and goes wide-eyed as the sudden swell stretches him; you stop, but he sets a hand on your ass, coaxing you on. So you nod, and you keep pushing. His gasping, uneven breaths and the little whines they carry radiate vulnerability, and you're not even aware of your hand caressing his cheek until the lobed head of the dildo lurches deeper into him, his hole pulling you in.

There's more kissing as you slide the tapered shaft in, pushing that fat cockhead deeper and deeper, feeling every movement radiating up through the nub and into your wet cunt. 

Then you hilt, and you stay there for a moment. You stare into his eyes. He stares back. Never would you have guessed at all the colors in his eyes, nor at the comfort you'd find in them. But right now, you're home, and without saying anything, you know that he is too.

He kisses you and nods, and you move your hips, dragging the nub against your clit. Though you shiver, you're slow, letting him get used to the sensation. You draw the shaft out until you feel that bulbous head against his sphincter, and you press back in again. He rocks his hips, coaxing you deeper, so you give him what he wants. Little by little, with every thrust, you go faster. That nub in your harness slides up and down your vulva, and it's hard to focus, but his moans sound so nice that it centers your attention. He's so open, so vulnerable. And he won't break eye contact with you.

Already, you feel your climax approaching, so you thrust faster. He runs his thumb across your cheek as pleasure floods every nerve in your body. You whine and gasp, but you don't stop thrusting.

You ask if he wants you to fuck him harder. He nods, so you speed up as best you can, hips slapping hips despite the wobble in your legs. His cock twitches against his belly, pulsing with life. With every jolt of pleasure that shoots up your cunt, you think about how sexy it would be to see him come all over himself. But it's your first time together, you remind yourself with what few faculties aren't focused on the fucking. There's plenty of time ahead.

That sensible voice has good timing — your core feels bright and glowy with building pleasure, and you're close to erupting again. You feel your legs and hips quivering and growing sore, but you keep thrusting with everything you can manage, each thrust driving the nub up and down your vulva, teasing your clit, spreading you open and making you feel just how wet you are, and Spades, that beautiful man beneath you keeps groaning, and he's telling you how good it feels to be fucked by you and...

And you plunge the dildo as deep as it will go into his ass as your back goes stiff. Pleasure sets your carapace buzzing like soft tissue once more. You're gasping for breath, hot, and sore. You try to thrust slower, but your legs, your hips, your core all want for strength.

Spades puts his hand on your cheek again, and his face reads concern. You're trying to laugh and catch your breath at the same time. It isn't working so well, but he gets the idea. You collapse onto your butt, the bulbous head of the strap-on tugging out of his hole with a pop, sending a spasm of pleasure through him. When he's caught his breath about a second later, he suggests you lay on your back so he can ride you and get himself off, and you fall a little more in love with him.

So you lay down on the floral bedspread, half a brain cell wondering if you should have maybe shoved it on the floor. Before that thought can pull you out of the moment, Spades is straddling your hips. You grasp your shaft steady and point it at his ass. He plants his arm on your shoulder and lowers himself onto you, slow and steady as he pushes that big, bulbous knob of silicone into himself. His cock jumps as the head finds his prostate, and he slides down the shaft until, once more, he's flush with you, carapace on carapace.

It shouldn't surprise you how vigorously he rides you, how deeply he fucks himself, given how demanding the life he's lived has been, but he's bucking his hips up and down just as fast as you were fucking him — maybe faster. He's moaning, groaning, whining with every breath he takes. The nub slides up and down your vulva with ferocity, and you plant your hands on either side of his ass, holding on for a hell of a ride.

And you watch his cock as it pulses and jumps, slapping your abdomen with every shake of his hips. And you get an idea. You snag the lube from the edge of the bed, and you drizzle some into your hand. Wet and accommodating, your fingers encircle his cock, and his pace goes jerky as he fucks your hand. He gasps, pauses, then slams his hips down as hard and as desperate as ever, clinging to your shoulder for dear life.

You do the only thing you can do: you wrap your free hand around his give him a little squeeze. Meeting his eyes, you don't need to say it. He knows, and he's thinking it too: "I love you."

With one buck of your hips, his legs give out, and his entire body goes stiff as he comes. Every pulse of his muscles shoots a jet of pearly white up your body, onto your face and past your head. He comes hard, mouth open wide, incoherent whimpers coming out as he climaxes. But he doesn't blink. He doesn't look away. He shares all of it, every moment, with you.

When he slumps forward into your embrace, bulbous head of your dildo still inside of him, you feel his cum dripping down your carapace onto the bed. You laugh, a little awkward but amused at the sensation and at the way your dry cleaner will look at you. You're not sure who starts the first afterglow kiss, but you definitely start the second one. And then you lay there a while, warm and sticky, reveling in the moment. You're both thinking it still, you know it, but he says it first:

"I love you."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my editor, LumenInFusco.


End file.
